


Entangle

by h_lovely



Series: Roses [2]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Anal Sex, Birthday Presents, Birthday Sex, Bondage, Established Relationship, Fluff and Smut, Lingerie, M/M, Nipple Piercings, Riding, Sex Toys, Shibari
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-27
Updated: 2018-03-01
Packaged: 2019-03-10 05:23:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,230
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13495782
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/h_lovely/pseuds/h_lovely
Summary: “Best birthday present ever.”[Entangle (v.) to twist together, to catch or hold.]





	1. i’m so encaptured, got me wrapped up in your touch

**Author's Note:**

> Writing this just about ended me, but here it finally is. Happy Birthday, Hanamaki! 
> 
> [theme music](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2Ncxk88jZ0A)  
> 

“Okay, so this is definitely not what I was expecting.”

Matsukawa stands there with an especially blasé look behind his glasses. The pretty cords of rope in his fingers don’t slip, his grasp steady and unapologetic.

“And what were you expecting, Hiro?” he asks lazily, like he’s not just offered to play Surprise Naked Model for him.

“I don’t know—like a Nintendo Switch or something?” Hanamaki is a terrible, terrible liar, but the banter is helping to quell the rapid flush threatening to burn across his entire body.

Matsukawa fits him with a flat look. “Would you rather have that instead then?”

“Is that an option?” Hanamaki’s smirk morphs quickly into something broad and toothy. “You already bought one, it’s under your bed isn’t it?”

“Alright, I know it’s your birthday,” Matsukawa says with a soft, indulgent smile at his boyfriend’s antics. And then abruptly he turns back towards the door. “But I’m leaving.”

Before he can reach the door handle Hanamaki’s grabbing at his wrist and tugging him back with a burst of breathless laughter. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m done fucking with you,” he gasps out. “Promise!”

Turning back around (with really no intentions of actually leaving, what with the _birthday_ thing and all) Matsukawa fits him with an extremely serious look. “You’re really done— _fucking_ with me, are you?”

His words are so incredibly loaded and _like hell_ is Hanamaki done fucking with him.

It _is_ his birthday after all.

They end up in Hanamaki’s bedroom (no real surprise there) because the lamp at his bedside and the moon’s glow through his window provide the best lighting he’s going to find for ten o’clock on a Saturday night. A few hours earlier they’d gone to drinks with Oikawa and Iwaizumi and some other familiar faces, but it hadn’t really felt truly like his birthday until Matsukawa had presented him with his gift.

Of course, all joking aside, it’s more or less starting to _really_ kick in now with Matsukawa kneeling on his bedroom floor, naked and forearms strapped together in a simple box tie. The bright white rope wraps itself around his neck and broad shoulders, pulling them back and angling his chest out in a pleasing way.

“Alright?” Hanamaki murmurs, checking the ropes wrapped around Matsukawa’s wrists. He should feel flustered, even awkward about the whole thing, but in all actuality, it feels completely natural.

He’s had some practice—if anything, working with Azuma has opened up an entirely new perspective for Hanamaki. The art of rope tying is beautiful, being the one to illustrate it even more so.

Matsukawa nods. “I’m good,” he answers, twisting his neck to catch Hanamaki off guard with a searching kiss that lands on his bare shoulder, the angle off but the affection more than appreciated.

Hanamaki hums, satisfied. “You look good,” he says, soft and deep. “Incredible actually.”

“Such a flatterer,” Matsukawa laughs, voice going rumbly as he tests the ropes. “Happy birthday, Hiro.”

It’s something they’ve been talking about for a while, teasing and taunting, but with the underlying knowledge that they both wanted this. So, his gift shouldn’t have come as much of a shock, yet still Matsukawa had managed to surprise him.

Hanamaki breathes in softly, the hint of Matsukawa’s aftershave warming him through. From his position, he can just make out the faint hardness of Matsukawa’s cock, already stiff and inviting. It’s not an inherently sexual act, but the ropes and the intimacy would have been enough to set Hanamaki over the edge so he can understand the reaction easily.

They might not even have sex tonight; there’s shears on the nightstand in case things become too much. But when Hanamaki reaches forward, tugging a rope against one of Matsukawa’s pressure points and a soft whine fills the silence between them, it’s difficult to banish the swirling, filthy thoughts in his head. 

Hanamaki avoids thinking about the new tightness of his pants by running fingers soothingly through Matsukawa’s dark curls. “Would you rather be on your front or back?”

He’s been witness to many different ties and positions, had a good amount of practice drawing bodies of all shapes and designs, but _this one_ is something Hanamaki’s been thinking about for a long while.

“Front,” Matsukawa answers with just the hint of a smirk and Hanamaki could have predicted that; the position will certainly provide a nice amount of friction, regardless if Hanamaki decides to touch him or not.

Matsukawa’s legs are free for the moment, so it’s easy for him to stand at Hanamaki’s request. His muscles flex as he moves to kneel in middle of the bed and Hanamaki takes a moment to admire the nice contrast between the ropes and his tanned skin. There’s visible goosebumps running down Matsukawa’s thighs and he can’t resist the urge to reach out and touch.

At the contact Matsukawa huffs, not quite a laugh, and Hanamaki grins at just how sensitive the other is. “Ready?” he asks, squeezing Matsukawa’s left thigh, thumb digging into his femoral nerve straight down to the knee, just to see what kind of reaction he can get.

He’s rewarded with a squirm, but Matsukawa doesn’t pull away. Instead he turns to watch Hanamaki closely, his expression open. “Are _you?”_ he wonders dryly.

Hanamaki snorts at the cheek, appreciating the lightness between them. “Hell yes,” he grins. “It’s been a long time coming.”

“Not _that_ long—” Matsukawa begins to argue before Hanamaki bends him forward, guiding the front of his body to the bed, though he still lands with a little bounce.

“Sorry,” Hanamaki laughs, biting the inside of his cheek at the new and unadulterated view of Matsukawa’s ass.

“I am willing to forgive you,” Matsukawa says, voice a little muffled by the duvet. “Only because it’s your special day.”

“So generous, Issei.” Hanamaki kneels on the bed, rubbing a hand over a thick cheek before giving it a light slap. He watches in fascination the way Matsukawa’s fingers clench against his forearms, trapped.  

There’s a fair bit of extra rope on the nightstand and Hanamaki snatches up a long strand, folding it in half between his fingers as he pretends not to notice Matsukawa’s hips shuffle against the mattress, unbidden.

The tie he’s got in mind is simple and only mildly constricting, but the line of knots and stripes of rope against Matsukawa’s skin are going to make one hell of a pretty picture.

When Hanamaki grabs firmly onto his leg, Matsukawa doesn’t flinch at the touch this time. At his ankle Hanamaki busies himself tying a single-column cuff, starting at the center of the doubled rope. “Tell me immediately if anything starts to pinch or feel off, okay?”

They’ve already been through it all before—through some of Hanamaki’s own sessions and today before he’d laid a single rope against Matsukawa’s body, but together they like to ere on the side of more communication, rather than less. After everything, Hanamaki has found his confidence amplified tenfold by that simple understanding.

“Right,” Matsukawa nods, chin brushing against the bed until he can turn his head just enough to watch Hanamaki from the edge of his vision. His glasses are gone, sitting safely on the dresser and Hanamaki knows that if he were any farther away Matsukawa would have to squint to see him properly.

Hanamaki lifts his leg, bending it at the knee until Matsukawa’s calf rests against the back of his thigh. It takes a little maneuvering but then he’s able to start wrapping the long length of rope in three evenly spaced lines ending a few inches from the knee. The rope presses into the softer, fleshier skin of Matsukawa’s thigh pleasingly.

It’s immediately clear the new tension this creates on Matsukawa’s body; his toes curl a bit and the muscles on his backside clench and the movements are so subtle Hanamaki wonders if he even realizes he’s doing anything at all. Hanamaki’s tongue peeks out of his mouth, wetting his lower lip and he tells himself it’s an odd quirk out of concentration and nothing else.

Instead of dwelling on the thought Hanamaki focusses back on his work, tying a half-hitch around the top-most wrap, then bringing the doubled rope down on the far side of the hitch and pulling it under, creating what looks like a delicate knot to the eye of an onlooker. He follows this process twice more until he’s able to pull the rope beneath Matsukawa’s shin and through to the other side.

The feeling of rope pulling against the sensitive skin on the underside of his leg causes Matsukawa to buck forward into the mattress and he can’t quite manage to hide the soft moan that pulls from his chest before it reaches Hanamaki’s ears. The last appendage not yet bound stretches out in sympathy for the other three that are now trussed firmly.

“Still good?” Hanamaki murmurs and he has to resist the urge to lean against Matsukawa’s back and run his lips against the reddening shell of his ear.

“Mhmm,” Matsukawa all but groans as though words are too much trouble to conjure up at the moment. To Hanamaki it comes out drunk and blissful and he gladly takes it as a compliment to his rigging skills.

Hanamaki continues the process of tying hitches up the inside of Matsukawa’s calf, dexterously ignoring just how close his fingers come to Matsukawa’s balls and the swollen cock half hidden by the duvet. Once he reaches the top wrap he loops the rope over it and back down on the other side, twisting and snaking it down between the hitches until just an inch or so of rope remains, dangling near Matsukawa’s ankle.

When he pulls away to admire his work Hanamaki feels a simultaneous flush of pride and lust wash over him; a tidal wave of dual emotions he’s not yet used to.

“How do I look?”

He can hear the teasing tone in Matsukawa’s voice easily, but it doesn’t totally mask his obvious arousal.

Hanamaki decides to leave Matsukawa’s other leg untied. He likes the asymmetry of it and he knows from experience with Azuma that it gives a unique sense of imbalance to the model, something he’s always been curious about trying himself. But for now, he’ll just have to live vicariously—and that’s certainly alright with him.

“Gorgeous,” Hanamaki answers finally, nearly breathless. “Best birthday present ever.”

Matsukawa lets out a deep laugh, squirming a bit for effect. “I aim to please.”

“My sketchbook’s in the living room.” Hanamaki smirks broadly even though Matsukawa can’t see. “Don’t go anywhere, Issei.”

Matsukawa groans at the joke, but it’s all for effect. “Hiro, you’re _hilarious_.”

“One of my many loveable qualities, you know.” He leans in to peck a kiss against Matsukawa’s lips before shuffling out of the bedroom and down the hall, trying not to outright _run_. The whole idea of the night, the present, was for Hanamaki to fill a page (or two) with nothing but Matsukawa. But now, with him artfully bound, leaking pre-cum on his bed, Hanamaki isn’t sure how long he’s going to be able to last before he has to put his hands to more productive use than simple anatomy practice.

He grabs his phone off the kitchen counter on his way back to the bedroom, flipping through a few random playlists until he’s found one that mostly fits the mood. Not surprisingly, when he pushes back through the doorway Matsukawa hasn’t moved, though Hanamaki is ready to guess he’d taken the momentary privacy to test out the new ropes. He plugs his phone in and sets the music to a low volume, barley background noise and pours himself into the chair at his desk.

Matsukawa eyes him from the edge of his vision; he has to look over his shoulder to see Hanamaki, neck crooked. From his angle Hanamaki studies the firm planes of Matsukawa’s ass, the twisting box tie, and the intricate rope pattern tethering calf to thigh. Flicking a pencil between his fingers, he swallows down a groan before forcing his mind into a more appropriate headspace.

Time ticks away slowly. The music and scratches of charcoal against paper lull Hanamaki into a comfortable trance, something familiar and generally productive. Matsukawa has adjusted a couple of times, first rolling his neck to face the opposite wall and then a little while later stretching his unbound leg, the muscles lithe and taught beneath his skin.

Hanamaki can tell, by the occasional aborted movement of his hips, how badly Matsukawa wants to move in other, more lewd capacities.

The sound of sketching continues to fill the air between them and Hanamaki’s moved on from his second to a third drawing, contemplating a more bird’s eye view angle, when his eye catches on the red flesh of Matsukawa’s cock caught halfway between himself and the duvet.

“Issei?” Hanamaki’s voice comes out rougher than anticipated. He sets his sketchbook down and stands to step closer to the bed, cautious.

“Mm?” Matsukawa mumbles and Hanamaki’s not sure if the lack of words has to do with his current position or his preoccupied mind’s inability to come up with any.

Hanamaki stares at him, stating somewhat bluntly, “You’re _hard_.”

Matsukawa laughs but it’s really more of a groan. “What gave it away?”

Alright, so he is still able to produce words—and _sarcasm_ at that. Hanamaki blinks, brow quirking when Matsukawa’s glutes suddenly flex. “Need a hand?”

“Hand, arm, leg,” Matsukawa mumbles slowly into the bed and Hanamaki knows he’s trying to cover up just how affected the session has made him with his inherent dry humor.

Granting him a chuckle Hanamaki goes to the nightstand and pulls out a half-used bottle of lube and a condom. It’s a bit presumptuous, but when Matsukawa finds the items in his hand the breath he lets out is little more than a whine of relief.

“What do you want?” Hanamaki asks, even if the question is pretty much moot at this point.

Matsukawa does his best imitation of a shrug with his arms still bound. “Birthday rules mean _you_ get to choose.”

Hanamaki can’t help his eyes from rolling affectionately at that. “How are you doing? Still comfortable?”

The tie he’d chosen is fairly easy on the body, but Hanamaki understands from first-hand experience just how stiff the muscles can get. No matter what Matsukawa tells him, he knows his bent leg will have to be untied sooner rather than later.

“I’m good, the ropes are good,” Matsukawa answers and then, with a rut of his hips, narrows his eyes at Hanamaki almost accusingly. “But _hell_ —“ he hisses out and Hanamaki knows exactly what he means. “Do all of Azuma’s clients get like this?”

Hanamaki taps at the bottle in his hand, contemplating the red flush creeping across the tautness of Matsukawa’s shoulders. “Sometimes—it affects everyone a little differently. Of course, usually they’re not anticipating birthday sex or anything like that.”

“Of course,” Matsukawa bites, lips curling into a dangerous smirk.

Taking that as his cue Hanamaki moves to the end of the bed, balancing himself behind Matsukawa and minding his free leg. He lays a firm hand against the ropes trussing his left thigh, liking the way the softer flesh peeks through the windows of rope, almost swollen against his touch.

He understands what being bound can do to people, he knows what being bound can do to _him_. By placing knots in the correct places endorphins are released; _euphoric_ , Azuma had said to him once, though Hanamaki’s never been bound under his employer’s skilled hands. He thinks that sounds about right though, the idea being that the euphoria might feel differently to each individual person.

It doesn’t take much for Hanamaki to be certain of just what type of euphoria Matsukawa is experiencing.

When he pushes up with both hands, smoothing them across Matsukawa’s ass he receives a soft moan for his efforts. “Okay?” he wonders softly and those hips push backwards, seeking further stimulation and for Hanamaki that’s answer enough.

The lube is cold and slick against his fingers and he warms it just enough before tracing teasingly against Matsukawa’s exposed entrance. Hanamaki knows he’s sensitive here and he does his best to relax that outer ring of muscles before he slips his middle finger in to the first knuckle, testing.

Matsukawa surprises him by pushing back with as much momentum as his restrained body can provide, taking the finger in easily. His unbound leg hitches forward until he’s balanced low on both his knees, the prominent stiffness of his erection hanging heavily between a pair of mismatched thighs.

“Shit,” Hanamaki groans at the sight, his own cock stirring against the tightness of his jeans. Why had he thought skinny jeans would be a good idea? Maybe because earlier the idea had been for _him_ to seduce Matsukawa and not the other way around.

On impulse, his finger curls and Matsukawa tries to smother the noise the movement draws from deep in his chest. There is no way in hell that Matsukawa hadn’t prepared for this inevitability earlier and just that sultry image is enough for Hanamaki to push forward with another finger.

Scissoring and stretching, Hanamaki bites into the plush of his lower lip, grasping for some semblance of self-control. His other hand finds a hold on Matsukawa’s hip and the flesh there is hot to the touch. From this angle, he can just make out the glistening string of pre-cum dripping towards the duvet and his fingers edge forward to rub at Matsukawa’s prostate, bringing forth another low moan over the soft hum of music still playing from Hanamaki’s phone.

When he pulls out, Matsukawa predictably flinches at the loss.

Hanamaki stares at his ass for a long, hard minute. “I’m going to untie your leg,” he says.

Matsukawa nods in understanding, but turns a fraction to give Hanamaki a weak look. “Can you leave my arms?”

The skin of Hanamaki’s entire body flames at Matsukawa’s request, at that nearly pleading expression. His eyes glance over the ties on Matsukawa’s arms, shoulders, and chest. “Everything feel alright? Nothing numb or hurting?”

“No, everything’s fine,” he says, almost too-fast. “I just—I want to feel restrained tonight.”

Hanamaki is so very willing to comply with that request.

His hands tremble a bit with pent-up anticipation, but Hanamaki takes his time undoing the ropes. When there’s enough slack for Matsukawa’s leg to move properly he mumbles indecipherable words of pleasure, especially when Hanamaki digs his fingers into his thigh and calf, soothing the muscles there.

He peels his jeans and briefs off as fast as possible and when it comes time for the condom, all of Hanamaki’s patience has been used up so he rips the thing open with his teeth.

“Are you ready?” Hanamaki murmurs, rubbing the tip of his erection against the inviting entrance in front of him.

Matsukawa groans, arching his back as his knees spread a little further against the mattress. “Hiro, please.”

Usually, Matsukawa isn’t the one begging. It’s an arousing, novel thing that Hanamaki makes note of to remember later.

Hanamaki can’t stop himself from bending forward, lips flicking along the curve of Matsukawa’s spine. “I’m in charge this time,” he whispers against damp skin. “Birthday rules, remember?”

Through a shroud of arousal, Matsukawa’s neck twists so he can fit Hanamaki with a half-smirk. “Milking it?”

Hanamaki smiles, all teeth. “For all it’s worth,” he says and then pushes forward into velvet heat.

Matsukawa bucks back immediately, clenching, and the movement translates into perfect pressure surrounding Hanamaki’s cock, pulling him in. He plants his hands against Matsukawa’s hips, head bowing as he tries desperately to reel himself back from the edge. It takes a few seconds but Matsukawa slowly starts to relax as Hanamaki thumbs at his skin, drawing delicate circles there, half-unconsciously.

“ _Fuck_ , Hiro,” Matsukawa hisses, shoulders tensing as he tries to find any leverage to press back further onto Hanamaki.

“That’s what I’m—” Hanamaki huffs against the back of his neck. “I’m _trying_ to do.”

His hips stutter forward and the growing sensation of heat in his stomach subsides only enough to allow him to start thrusting, slow and deep. After another soft whine from below, Hanamaki loosens one of his hands from Matsukawa’s hip to wrap around his hard, slick length.

Hanamaki pumps in time as much as he can, though his coordination seems to be somewhat lacking, all things considered. He curls into him, following each one of Matsukawa’s panted breaths with a rock of his hips until he’s found the spot inside that makes Matsukawa’s entire body shiver in his hands.

The ropes spidering out across Matsukawa’s back and arms, holding him in place, force his muscles into stark relief, straining and taunting Hanamaki and sending his thrusts erratic.

Hanamaki thinks about teasing Matsukawa’s further as those thick thighs start to quiver where his hips and legs smack every second or so, a messy, debauched beat. But Hanamaki isn’t certain that he’ll be able to last much longer either and, after all, Matsukawa _had_ gone to such lengths to give him a birthday present he’d not soon forget.

It’s hard to determine who comes first with the way Matsukawa’s entire body tenses and Hanamaki’s grip stutters out of control. The warm sensation of cum tangling against his fingers only amplifies the intense throbbing heat peeling against his skin as he fills the condom with a breathless noise cancelled out entirely by Matsukawa’s cry of satisfaction.

A mixture of labored breath and some random electronic beat fill the air around them. Hanamaki holds onto Matsukawa’s hips as the other man melts forward against the bed with Hanamaki still buried inside of him.

When he finally pulls out they both groan in unison. The condom makes it into the trashcan across the room along with a cum stained washcloth and then Hanamaki allows himself to flop down next to Matsukawa with a hum of blissful contentment. Next to him, Matsukawa blinks lazily and Hanamaki can’t help from nuzzling into the warmth of the man’s neck.

“Ready to be untied now?” he asks, voice nothing but a whisper against Matsukawa’s jaw.

“Mhmm,” Matsukawa purrs, the fingers of one hand just close enough to swat at Hanamaki’s naked ass.

Laughing, Hanamaki stretches across the bed before giving Matsukawa a wet kiss and pushing up to kneel beside him. “I’m sort of sad to see these go already,” he admits wistfully, working at the first knot.

“Lucky that you get a birthday every year, hm?” Matsukawa hums into the blankets; he sounds tired but content.

Hanamaki pushes his lower lip into a pout, just for show. “I really have to wait a whole year?”

With his leg Matsukawa nudges into Hanamaki gently, a shy smile working its way onto his lips as he angles to fit Hanamaki with an affectionate look. “Maybe not a _whole_ year,” he says. “There’s always half birthdays.”

Hanamaki snorts, pinching at Matsukawa’s ribs in retaliation. “You liked it,” he chides, because he knows it’s the truth.

Matsukawa nods unabashedly. “The real question is, how are you going to top this for _my_ birthday, Hiro?”

Hanamaki’s eyes flicker from the ropes to Matsukawa’s challenging gaze. “I think I’ve got something in mind.”


	2. feel so enamored, hold me tight within your clutch

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is dirty...sorry not sorry...
> 
> Happy Birthday, Matsukawa Issei. I'm so glad to share a birthday with you!

“Welcome home, birthday boy.”

Hanamaki has himself strategically placed on Matsukawa’s couch, borrowed shirt and sweatpants a touch too big and slipping off his neck and hips just enough to hint at the milky skin beneath. He’s on his stomach, curling around a pillow, socked feet kicking in the air and ass on full display for his boyfriend as he walks through the front door.

“Correct me if I’m wrong,” Matsukawa says by way of greeting. “But I thought, it being my birthday and all, that you were obligated to be nice to me.”

“Are you implying that I’ve been bad?” Hanamaki grins over his shoulder. He knows exactly what Matsukawa is implying; his sexting game has been on point today.

“If you want me to spank you, all you have to do is ask,” Matsukawa drawls, unapologetic. He’s eyeing the swell of Hanamaki’s backside, considering.

Hanamaki sputters, realizing that he’d walked right into that one. “That’s not what I mean,” he hurries out. “It’s _your_ birthday—”

“Hiro, I’m pretty sure I’ve had a fucking erection since lunch.”

Okay so the sexting was on point, but maybe the pictures had been a bit much. However, the thought that he’s been the cause of Matsukawa’s predicament all day and the insinuation that he’s still hard in his dark jeans _right now_ —it’s a lot for Hanamaki to process.

“And now I’m here to help you take care of that.” He winks broadly as Matsukawa continues to indulge in the view. “Happy birthday!”

Matsukawa fits him with a blank look, though Hanamaki can tell there’s something boiling up beneath that neutral surface, something hungry, something _demanding_.

Probably he shouldn’t have provoked him—

“Is that my shirt?” Matsukawa asks smoothly and like the flick of a filament, something in the air between them changes. “And my pants?”

Hanamaki can feel the warm flush crawling up his neck at the way Matsukawa’s voice dips. “Want me to give them back?”

Matsukawa hums deep at the back of his throat and busies himself by removing his coat and toeing off his shoes. His movements are casual, if not a bit drawn out and Hanamaki knows the man well enough to understand that it’s purposeful. The anticipation grows between them with each passing second and now, gift or not, Hanamaki’s sure he’s no longer in charge here.

When Matsukawa finally decides to turn his attention back to Hanamaki, he’s definitely visibly hard in his jeans and Hanamaki can feel a matching arousal growing and warming in his stomach. He presses just an inch or so further into the couch, testing, and he can tell by the flicker in those dark eyes that Matsukawa’s noticed.

Matsukawa steps towards the couch and Hanamaki shifts to sit up, but a firm hand on his lower back keeps him in place, smoothing against the thin line of skin there and pushing against the fabric of the borrowed shirt, moving it up to expose vertebrae and a smattering of freckles. Hanamaki tries (unsuccessfully) not to shiver when Matsukawa’s hand slides back down to dip straight into his sweatpants, grabbing the meat of Hanamaki’s ass and squeezing.

“Lace is a nice touch,” Matsukawa murmurs and even though he’s still standing above Hanamaki’s body, his voice and his touch feel nearly suffocating.

For show, Hanamaki wiggles a bit in his grip sending Matsukawa as much of a smirk as he can over his shoulder, bared by the shirt’s broad neck. “Just wait till you unwrap the rest of your present,” he teases, if not a bit breathlessly.

Matsukawa thumbs at the waistband, tugging to reveal the black lace panties hugging Hanamaki’s hips. “Let’s see it then,” Matsukawa says and even if his touch feels steady, his voice wavers just enough to give away how greatly this is affecting him.

Hanamaki obeys easily, pushing up onto his knees and tugging off the shirt in one fluid motion. It lands on the floor next to Matsukawa, who’s demeanor has shifted from smooth and collected, to honest surprise.

The piercings laced through Hanamaki’s nipples are different than usual. From each bar hangs a chain of delicate silver, each dangling with a teardrop of aqua, the jewel glinting in the warm evening light filtering in through the studio’s single window.

Matsukawa leans in again, unable to resist reaching out a thumb to trace over Hanamaki’s pert nipple and then down over the new, inviting jewelry. The rest of his fingers lay warm against Hanamaki’s ribcage.

“Aquamarine,” Hanamaki breathes out. “Just for you.”

Matsukawa’s eyes never leave the blue jewels when he says, rather bluntly, “Pants off. _Now_.”

Hanamaki is happy to comply, the shake in his fingers subsiding a bit when he stands and pushes down at Matsukawa’s shoulders until they’ve switched positions. He hooks his thumbs into the waistband, pulling to reveal a swell of hard cock resting heavily beneath black lace. Hanamaki watches closely as Matsukawa wets his lips before he tugs the pants all the way down, toeing off his socks as well. The process becomes a little awkward, but Hanamaki adores the small grin it garners from the man seated before him.

The sheer, black stockings cling to his legs, the lace band at the top of his thighs a stark contrast to his pale skin, dotted occasionally by a mole or patch of bronze freckles. Hanamaki _knows_ he looks good, but the velvet moan his appearance elicits from Matsukawa goes straight to his already rock-hard cock.

Matsukawa extends a hand, beckoning, and Hanamaki moves forward at the other’s will. An invisible string pulls him along until he’s seated in Matsukawa’s lap, thick thighs balanced on either side and a very prominent but still clothed erection pressing against his backside, insistent.

“I’m glad you like it,” Hanamaki says, soft and low as he winds his fingers into the curls at Matsukawa’s nape. He pulls forward, leaning down to press a gentle kiss against Matsukawa’s parted lips, but his dreamy pace and chaste affection is quickly thrown to the wayside when large hands palm roughly at his ass.

Matsukawa murmurs nonsense against his mouth until he’s nearly growling, trailing hot kisses down his jaw and neck, nipping at sharp collarbones and pushing Hanamaki into just the right position for him to lean in and tongue greedily at an already peaked nipple. The possessive way his fingers curl into the plush of Hanamaki’s cheeks, tugging at the soft lace, and the teeth now tracing across his chest wrestles a groan deep from his lungs and Matsukawa has the gall to actually laugh at his reaction.

“Sure this is a present for _me_?” Matsukawa quips, mouth now occupied with Hanamaki’s other nipple. His movements cause the jewelry to flutter and shift against Hanamaki’s already sensitive skin.

This time when he groans, it’s for an entirely different reason. “You haven’t even gotten to the best part,” he chastises around a stifled pant of pleasure when Matsukawa bites down a little harder than before.

“Oh?” Matsukawa hums, piercings vibrating with the depth of his voice. He peers up through thick lashes, heavy-lidded, until his wandering fingers dig a little harder into Hanamaki’s ass, tugging at his cheeks and brushing against something that is decidedly not flesh. His eyes widen, pupils dilating behind his glasses.

Hanamaki tries to swallow down the sound in his throat as Matsukawa presses curiously at the plug, but it’s nearly impossible, the anticipation and just the ounce of extra pressure pushing him over the edge and now he’s _definitely_ ready to move things along.

“Bed,” Hanamaki demands, weak as his voice is, but without hesitation Matsukawa complies, hitching hands up under Hanamaki’s thighs and lifting like it’s nothing.

Hanamaki’s weight shifts forward and he catches his arms around Matsukawa’s neck, surprised at the abrupt movement. “ _Fuck_ ,” he hisses out, indulging in the feel of his boyfriend’s muscles on full display, even if he is still (unfairly) entirely dressed.

“That’s the intention,” Matsukawa says, lips pulled into a dark smirk and Hanamaki has to bury his face in the other’s neck to hide his giddy amusement at the stupid quip.

When his back hits the mattress, he bounces with another breathless laugh, eyes blinking up and refocusing in a flurry to capture the way Matsukawa tugs his shirt up over his head, jeans not far behind.

Sitting up on his elbows, Hanamaki leers unapologetically. “Goddamn, Issei,” he slurs, feeling almost dizzy with expectation.

Matsukawa raises a thick brow, eyes roving the inky lace still clinging to Hanamaki’s skin. “Have you seen _yourself_?”

Hanamaki feels the blush that rises over his features, but he doesn’t have time to let any shyness blossom because Matsukawa’s already on him, grabbing at his hips and flipping him onto his stomach. The action isn’t gentle, isn’t sweet or pampering—it’s demanding and possessive and _just_ what Hanamaki had been hoping for.

A rush of breath leaves his lungs when Matsukawa gropes the meat of his ass, kneeling on the bed and nearly pinning Hanamaki beneath him. When fingers tug at the thin lace hugging Hanamaki’s hips, he can practically feel when Matsukawa’s movements stutter, the panties coming to rest against the swell of his cheeks, leaving him on full display.

Hanamaki hitches further up on his knees, Matsukawa’s touch electric against his bare skin, his voice deeper than he’s ever heard it before. “Aquamarine,” Matsukawa purrs. “Just for me?”

Hanamaki can picture the plug nestled in his ass, metal and thick enough to just barely brush his prostate when toyed with properly. On the flanged end rests a shimmering, aqua jewel to match the delicate bars in his nipples, now rubbing maddeningly against the duvet.

“Just for you,” he breathes out, curling a grin against his forearm.

Matsukawa reaches forward to part Hanamaki’s ass with one hand, the other moving to trace fingers over the jewel slowly. After a moment of contemplation Hanamaki feels Matsukawa grab at the plug, pulling until it’s stretching him at its thickest point.

He’s not quick enough to stifle his gasp and a warm sound rumbles from Matsukawa’s chest as he leans forward over Hanamaki’s back. “How long have you been like this?” he mouths against Hanamaki’s neck. “Ready for me?”

The words send a spike of pleasure shooting down his spine, gooseflesh shivering out across every exposed inch of skin. Hanamaki sucks in air through his nose, letting it out in one, long steadying breath. “Since—the third picture.”

Behind him, Matsukawa hums in understanding. It’s obvious now, they’re both imagining Hanamaki’s strategic positioning to get just the right angle of the swell of his bare ass in the third selfie he’d sent that afternoon. That one had been the most risqué and even if he’d not featured his cock in the photo itself, Hanamaki had been achingly hard. Now Matsukawa was undoubtedly picturing precisely how Hanamaki had preoccupied himself waiting for the birthday boy’s arrival.  

Matsukawa lets the plug go with a distinct pop, the sound causing Hanamaki’s flush to deepen. Matsukawa plays with some of the excess lube, dragging his thumb around the sensitive rim, teasing. Hanamaki wants to turn and argue, to bark at him to get on with things already, but this is Matsukawa’s present not his, so instead he just gnaws on his lower lip and waits.

“As much as I love you in these,” Matsukawa says, finally, fingering at where the panties still trap Hanamaki’s cock, wet and red. “I think it’s time they come off.”

Hanamaki smirks around another gasp as Matsukawa presses his thumb into the slit, rough with the drag of lace. “If you get a show, then do I?” he manages to hiss out, reaching back to smack half-heartedly at Matsukawa’s thigh, just where his briefs meet the thick, tan muscle of his leg.

“Greedy,” Matsukawa admonishes, pulling away and consequently forcing a shiver out of Hanamaki with the release of pressure on his dick. Not waiting for more of an answer, Hanamaki flips over onto his back, already with the panties down around his stockinged knees. In the end, it’s not much of a show anyways.

Matsukawa watches him, gaze dark behind his glasses, and thumbs at his lower lip—the same digit that had just been toying with Hanamaki’s very prominent swell of pre-cum. His tongue dips out to taste and Hanamaki groans, open and a touch over-dramatic.

Huffing out a laugh, knowing very well _exactly_ what he’s doing, Matsukawa finally relents, tugging off his tight boxer-briefs in an easy, slow motion all the while watching Hanamaki’s reaction.  

“Fucking finally,” Hanamaki murmurs around a heavy tongue, eyeing the way Matsukawa’s cock, filled and cut hard, bounces up against the dip of his unreal abdominal muscles.

Matsukawa laughs again, this one more open and less dark, less masking. “Eager?”

“I’ve been waiting all goddamn day,” Hanamaki snaps, without a hint of actual malice.

Brow quirking, Matsukawa steps forward, right foot then left and he’s right at the edge of the bed now, towering over Hanamaki. “And how about me, hm?” he rumbles. “Sitting at work all day long, with half-naked pictures and innuendos filling up my messages.”

Hanamaki, for all his trying, can’t hide the prideful grin that spreads his lips, slick from his own tongue. “Happy birthday,” he says, and this time it’s lined with so much unwavering suggestion that it has Matsukawa’s knees hitting the mattress a second later.

Their mouths crash and the black lace panties finally fall to their rightful place on the floor, forgotten. Hanamaki’s tongue darts forward, confident and searching, as Matsukawa threads his fingers into the short hair at the back of his head. Hanamaki’s pulled forward, fingers spreading across his chest and tangling against the silver and jewels threading his nipples, the sensation almost too-much; ice on burning, sensitive flesh.

Matsukawa kisses him, gentle but unrelenting. His tongue maps over teeth and Hanamaki’s lips, dragging tiny sounds of pleasure and anticipation out of them both, simultaneously.

“Are you ready?” Matsukawa breathes against his lower lip, dragging kisses down his chin and jaw. “I don’t think I can wait much longer.”

Hanamaki smiles, almost purring when lips and tongue attack that spot on his neck that sends his eyes rolling backwards. “At your service,” he breathes out, nearly choking when Matsukawa’s hands drop immediately to his ass.

The plug had not been entirely forgotten, but Hanamaki still twitches when Matsukawa pushes against the jewel. He plays with it for a moment, reveling, pulling on it but only enough to stretch. Hanamaki’s thighs quiver with each tug and twist, the lace of the stockings pulling taught against his skin with every flex of his muscles. Matsukawa’s glasses dip down the bridge of his nose when he closes the distance between them, pressing his warm lips against Hanamaki’s own and capturing the sound that falls out of his mouth when the plug is finally pulled free.

Hanamaki can feel himself clench around nothing, a flush spreading across his chest at the sensation, the feel of an emptiness he inherently dislikes. But, as if reading his thoughts, Matsukawa quickly replaces the toy with a thick finger dipping inside to test the slickness.

“I get you however I want tonight,” Matsukawa whispers against the shell of his ear, and it’s not a question but a statement of fact and his voice has Hanamaki’s throat seizing around a breath when he pushes a second finger forward.

When Matsukawa stretches his fingers inside, brushing gently (too gently) against his prostate, Hanamaki’s hands twitch against the duvet. He murmurs something unintelligible against Matsukawa’s jawline and then on impulse his right-hand creeps up to grasp firmly at his cock, fingers catching at the little bit of pre-cum splashed across his belly.

He only gets about three good pumps in before Matsukawa seizes his wrist firmly and tugs it back down the bed, holding it there with his fingernails digging just enough into Hanamaki’s sensitive skin; a warning. “None of that,” Matsukawa says. “Not yet.”

The demand drags an unplanned, disgruntled noise from Hanamaki, but the last two words fill his chest with something light and anticipatory. Not _never_ —just not yet. He hopes that maybe Matsukawa plans to do that himself, because if Hanamaki has learned one thing as of late it’s that jerking himself off will never, ever be quite the same.

Earlier, it felt a little like Hanamaki had control over the situation. But now, with Matsukawa hovering over him, his wrist pinned to the bed and two fingers thrusting languidly inside of him, his mind can barely think much less control. “How—how do you want me?” he asks, vision hazy as his eyes flick from the ceiling to Matsukawa’s lips.

“I want to watch you.” Matsukawa bends forward to lick and suck at the dip of his cupid’s bow. “Want you to ride me, show me how good you can take it, take _me_.”

The words are filthy, shooting a shiver down Hanamaki’s spine until his toes curl, still trapped in those sheer thigh-highs. “Shit,” he admits, shaking his head in some form of agreement he has little, to no power over.

Hanamaki can’t help it, he feels nearly weightless against the bed and it’s a sensation he doesn’t get to sink into often, mind foggy in the most pleasant of ways. Oh, how he loves Matsukawa like this—how he just loves Matsukawa, period.

He shifts, turning a bit and Matsukawa releases him, slipping his fingers out and leaning back on his knees. “Condom?” he asks, voice sounding heavy but his eyes are serious when he asks, searching Hanamaki’s face for honesty.

Hanamaki smiles, soft and his brain clears just enough for him to cant his head. “Not tonight, okay?”

“Okay.” Matsukawa’s palm rubs against Hanamaki’s inner thigh, catching on the lace, connecting them for a moment before he moves to crawl towards the head of the bed.

Rolling onto his side, Hanamaki watches him go, admiring the play of muscles beneath tan skin and the swell of his ass before Matsukawa fits himself to lean against the too-large pile of pillows acting as a headboard.

There’s lube on the nightstand which Matsukawa grabs and Hanamaki moves a heartbeat later to pluck it out of his grasp, popping open the cap himself to drizzle a bit onto his palm. He slicks Matsukawa up methodically, keeping his eyes on the sharpness of the man’s teeth as they bite into his lower lip, holding back sounds that Hanamaki is determined to wrench out of him sooner rather than later.

When he finally moves to straddle Matsukawa, in reverse, he’s rewarded with a low, deep moan of appreciation. Hands settle firmly against his hips, guiding him backwards on his knees until he can feel the tip of Matsukawa’s cock brushing against his entrance.

“Ready?” Hanamaki purrs against his shoulder, head twisted to meet Matsukawa’s blown pupils. It’s normally Matsukawa’s own question, but this time Hanamaki’s beat him to the punch.

Matsukawa answers by thrusting upwards, dragging his cock between slick cheeks and Hanamaki sucks in a sharp breath before reaching around to grab ahold of him firmly, pressing his hips down as slow as he can.

The prolonged groan that rumbles from Matsukawa’s lungs is worth the barely there stinging stretch as Hanamaki works himself down until he’s solidly sitting, ass flush against Matsukawa. His own cock jumps when his lower back arches, wiggling a little and testing the angle.

“ _Fuck_ ,” he whines, just as Matsukawa digs his fingers into the round of his ass, spreading and definitely studying where they’re connected, where Hanamaki’s stretched around him, slick with lube and pre-cum.

Matsukawa pets his long fingers against Hanamaki’s skin, running a thumb around his rim like he’d done earlier and Hanamaki shivers, pulling away from the touch only to hiss with the new pressure against his prostate.

“So pretty, Hiro,” Matsukawa breathes, sounding far more composed than Hanamaki himself is at this point.

Well shit, they can’t have that.

Hanamaki bites against the inside of his cheek, thrusting his hips upwards and slamming back down with a satisfying slap of skin on skin. The grip against his ass and hips stutter and from his peripheral vision he can see the moment when Matsukawa’s head tips back against the pillows.

He lifts up again, this time grinding and adjusting the angle until they’re both gasping out and Hanamaki has to dig his own fingers into the meat of Matsukawa’s splayed legs. He’s able to stay in charge like this for a moment or two, until Matsukawa’s palm lands a flat, open-handed smack to his right cheek and Hanamaki’s steady rhythm fizzles to a halt.

Another smack lands against his left flank and then another in quick succession, closer to where black lace meets pale skin soon to start blooming a dusky pink. Matsukawa’s hits are heavy, but not stinging or painful, more of a deep, growing ache that rolls pleasure up and down Hanamaki’s spine with each pass of a hand against his flesh.

It’s hard to tell when Hanamaki’s (meager) composure falls completely away, replaced by Matsukawa’s hands grabbing against his hips and guiding him just how he wants on his cock. Hanamaki lets his body move with the flow of Matsukawa’s own, cock bouncing and still neglected between his straddled legs. His ass burns and he can picture the marks left behind, marks Matsukawa’s fingers brush and rub against with every other thrust.

“Issei,” Hanamaki manages to gasp out between the wet, heavy sounds filling the air around them. He doesn’t mean to sound so pitiful, doesn’t mean to beg, but his voice nearly cracks with need.

Matsukawa, knowing exactly what he’s asking for, moves quickly to adjust his body. He bends his legs and the motion fits Hanamaki more firmly on his cock, back falling to Matsukawa’s chest and his legs spreading impossibly wide.

The new position has his thighs shaking and his hand flying to his cock, fighting against the dual sensation of wanting to stave off his orgasm and wanting to just fall straight over the edge.

He can’t even begin to imagine how Matsukawa is feeling at this point.

“Need to—” he manages to spit out, but Matsukawa’s pulling him back again, tugging at his arms until he’s got a tight grip on his wrists, holding them in place at his lower back.

Matsukawa lavs at his neck, leaving slick trails and teeth marks in his wake. “Just a little bit longer,” he says, unwavering because he _knows_ Hanamaki can wait.

And Hanamaki will, because it isn’t his birthday after all.

It takes a moment or two, but when Matsukawa seems sure that Hanamaki has come back from the edge he moves again, leaning Hanamaki so far forward it feels like he’s free falling, but when his eyes snap back open he finds himself against the duvet with Matsukawa behind him, still connected together.

Matsukawa hasn’t yet released his arms, instead pinning them in place and thrusting forward, almost experimentally. The angle, with his hips canted up off the bed and his chest nearly flat must be giving Matsukawa quite the view, but Hanamaki can’t really imagine it seeing as how his mind is currently preoccupied sifting through the sensation of Matsukawa’s cock deep inside of him.

It doesn’t take much for Matsukawa to start fucking into him with earnest. He pushes down against Hanamaki’s trapped arms, pumping into him fast and hard and sending each of Hanamaki’s breaths spiraling out of control.

It’s only when he feels Matsukawa’s hips stutter behind him followed by a warm wetness that Hanamaki’s mind finally starts to clear. It’s only when Matsukawa releases his wrists only to latch onto Hanamaki’s own hardness that he finally falls over the precipice, moaning against the sheets.

Hanamaki can feel his body shaking as they lay there, still connected, with Matsukawa’s heavy breath warming the back of his neck. “Nice work,” he stumbles out, voice sounding far away and lips numb.

Matsukawa’s laughter rumbles against his shoulders and finally he pulls away, slipping slowly out of him with a wet sound that makes Hanamaki cringe internally. “I thought this was _my_ present, Hiro,” Matsukawa smirks.

“What?” Hanamaki rolls lazily onto his side to regard Matsukawa through heavy lids. “Didn’t you enjoy yourself too?”

In some form of retaliation, Matsukawa palms at his reddened ass, right where there’s the makings of a nice, prominent handprint. “What do you think?” he hums, pushing his thumb against Hanamaki’s sensitive entrance and twisting in the bit of cum that slides out.

Hanamaki groans, trying to twitch away and hides his face in the crook of his arm. “You’re shameless,” he mumbles. “I don’t care whose birthday it is, carry me to the shower.”

Matsukawa pats his hip gently, chuckling that low, velvet laugh of his. “Up for round two already?”

He turns to glare up at Matsukawa with one eye. “You already got your birthday sex.”

“That was my birthday sex,” Matsukawa explains, entirely serious. “And now I fully expect an apology for sexting me all day at work.”

Hanamaki flicks a tongue over the plush of his lower lip, contemplating just what kind of apology Matsukawa might be hedging for. “So unappreciative,” he grumbles.

Matsukawa leans in to brush a kiss against the bridge of his nose. “You know how much I appreciate you,” he says before pulling back with a masterful shit-eating grin. “Now, let’s go ‘ _shower_.’”

Hanamaki does know—and so he allows Matsukawa to pull him out of bed, but not before smacking his own open-palm against Matsukawa’s bare ass.

“Birthday swats, it’s a tradition you know,” he grins, all teeth.

“Is it?” Matsukawa raises a brow. “I’ll have to give you a few more then, old man.”       

At his obvious mistake, Hanamaki deflates, but Matsukawa drags him forward with a kiss anyways. In the end, it’s a tradition he doesn’t mind adding to their list.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

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